AT VERONA

AT VERONA:

Poem Text: AT VERONA

How steep the stairs within King’s houses are
For exile-wearied feet as mine to tread,
And O how salt and bitter is the bread
Which falls from this Hound’s table, – better far
That I had died in the red ways of war,
Or that the gate of Florence bare my head,
Than to live thus, by all things comraded
Which seek the essence of my soul to mar.’Curse God and die: what better hope than this?
He hath forgotten thee in all the bliss
Of his gold city, and eternal day’ –
Nay peace: behind my prison’s blinded bars
I do possess what none can take away,
My love and all the glory of the stars.

About the Poet: Oscar Wilde

Oscar Wilde was a great a writer and poet, He does a great job at writing a very powerful poem such as this. He probably writes as a soldier

A versatile writer and a compassionate human, Wilde also had a tongue that he didn’t mind lashing out at the people concerned!

Who neither understands the grandeur of the King’s palace nor does he gets acclimatized with the prison and its environment.

Review of Poem: AT VERONA

He would have rather died on the battlefield, with his fellow mates. However, although frustrated and weary, all that he called his, taken away, he proudly declares that he has what others cannot take away. He has the love and the glory of all the stars.

A wonderful poem and rightly reflecting the plight of the heroes who fought so bravely, this piece is proof of the situation the soldiers underwent. Wilde gives them a voice and stands up for them.